Every four years, the United States Sailing Association publishes a document called “The Racing Rules of Sailing.” It’s the Form of Government for sailboat racing, though blessedly shorter than even our new and briefer church document. “The Racing Rules” outlines things that you can and cannot do to make your boat go faster; they tell you how you’re supposed to round a racing buoy and, most importantly, they try to clarify what boats have the right-of-way over other boats during a race. Perhaps the two most important rules are the one that says that a boat on a starboard tack (wind coming over the right side of the boat, more or less) has the right-of-way over a boat on a port tack, and the rule that simply says boats should never, ever run into each other. These rules, indeed the entire document, make sailboat racing work. It would be chaos without them (though it can still be chaos with them).
This past summer, I volunteered to serve as crew on a friend’s sailboat for a race. There were just three of us on the boat, a venerable 22-foot Ensign. It was a warm and blowy July Saturday with gusty winds nearing 18 knots. There were eight or 10 Ensigns in the race, all jockeying to cross the starting line at the same moment. There was much hasty maneuvering, boats constantly tacking to avoid each other. In the throes of this nautical excitement, I looked up to see the bow of another Ensign bearing down on us, moving fast at perhaps 5 knots. My friend shoved the tiller away in an attempt to avoid the impending collision, but it was too late. We were T-boned — hit hard amidships. The impact left significant and costly damage to our vessel, ironically named “Shamrock.”
Two things about the event made quite an impression on me. First, my friend decided to continue the race even though we’d lost time because of the accident and even though water might enter the boat from the nasty gash on her rail. Against all odds, we came in second. But what unfolded after the race impressed me even more. The crews of the two boats that had collided sat down at a table on the dock for a post-race beer. It was clear to all that it was not clear whose fault the accident had been. The boat that hit Shamrock was on a starboard tack and had theoretical right-of-way. But Shamrock had just turned to avoid running into the shore, so had no choice as to her course. And the number one rule is always, “Don’t run into anybody.” The skipper of the boat that hit us graciously offered to help pay for repairs, even though he had theoretical right-of-way. Shamrock’s skipper declined the offer with equal grace.
Everybody agreed that it was an ambiguous situation. The rules were conflicting. All were at fault; nobody was at fault. Glasses of good cheer were raised as the head of the race committee came to our table clutching a copy of “The Racing Rules of Sailing,” quite determined to plumb the legalities of the situation and figure out who was right and who was wrong. She was gently shooed away.
I wish that would happen more in church. Our Form of Government is an extraordinary and needful document, essential for being a faithful church in a manner “decently and in order.” But it can never cover every ambiguity that arises in church life any more than “The Racing Rules” can cover all the chaos of a sailboat race. A wise friend once opined that “Rules are a substitute for good leadership.” He was close to right. I would slightly amend his comment to say, “Rules — important as they are — cannot replace good leadership and simple grace.”
MICHAEL L. LINDVALL is pastor of the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York City.
